As The Stars Call
by RedWheeler
Summary: They seemed brighter these evenings, inviting almost, reaching out towards him with promise. But they weren't what necessarily made him stay. Oneshot, TysonxHilary.


**Note**: Came up with the idea within one of my vain attempts to fall asleep. Reviews would be appreciated, tell me what you think please.

**Summary**: They seemed brighter these evenings, inviting almost, reaching out towards him with promise. But they weren't what necessarily made him stay.

**Pairings**: TyHil, the only pairing I can seem to write at the moment. It may not seem like it's there right from the beginning, but it is there in the end.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Beyblade.

**As The Stars Call**

Sometimes Tyson couldn't sleep. And he would lie on his bed and look to his roof in utter boredom because he knew it was one of those nights. No one fought these sleepless evenings, or at least Tyson didn't. He had learned at an early age that they came and there was nothing you could do about it.

But it wasn't always like that, and in his youth he had not always been smart enough to figure that out. He had spent many of these nights turning from one side to the next, from left to right, right to left and back from left to right. Sooner or later, and they became sooner every time, he would hear the irritated grunt of his Grandpa and the warning growl of his older brother, causing the young boy to stop out of guilt and dread.

And, after waiting a couple minutes, he would shuffle slightly within the covers so that he was on his back. Squirming, he would wait until his head was propped up in the way he liked it. And he would be content… for a minute or two, because then his irritability was transferred onto whether he was too cold or too hot. So he would spend some of the night kicking off blankets and regretting it moments later, only to have him go through the process of removing them once again.

As he grew older, Tyson learned that this merely frustrated him. So he stopped and he would gaze upwards in a sad attempt to count sheep. But sheep were no fun to him and he would begin to fidget. Kicking his one foot in the air to amuse himself, which it did not, his attention often had switched to the light that entered his room from the bedroom door, and how it went across his roof and down one of his walls.

He often stopped any movements when he believed something caught his eye. He would watch it for a minute or two, trying to discern whether or not it was his imagination or if it was possibly a spider. Tyson hadn't liked those creatures when he was younger, and with his courage, he used to stand slowly on top of his bed and gaze towards the supposed threat to see if it was indeed real or not.

This attempt often failed and he would sit cross legged on his bed with a pout until he decided to crawl within the protection of his covers. Tyson, sadly, had done this for a majority of his youth, but he had grown reasonably smart.

Sometime within his secret fear of spiders, he had taken a flashlight into his room and hid it from everyone else in the house. When he believed he saw a taunting spider crawl across his roof he would reach down beside his bed, to the poor hiding place, and grab the source of light.

Rising to his feet, he would walk across the mattress, careful not to make noise, and flash the light toward the questioned spot on the ceiling. Oftentimes, he proved himself paranoid, the light revealing nothing but white paint. Then it was the hard part, sitting back down, which seemed to create more noise and disapproving remarks from other house members.

But it had made Tyson relax, and in his childhood he chose to ignore these _spiders_ that taunted him. Though the flashlight remained by his side, it did for a different reason.

When he managed to cure his fear of spiders, he really had nothing to do on these sleepless nights. So amazingly Tyson Granger, at the age of ten roughly, took up reading.

Taking whatever book he borrowed from the school library every Thursday, he would hide them in a rather obvious place in his bedroom. Right beside his bed was a table and underneath, between the spaces of the legs, used to be a pair of slippers. Using the neglected slippers as a cover, it had become his ingenious hiding place for years.

Every night after his Grandpa told him to go to bed he would make sure that he heard him walk down the hallway of the dojo and close the door before he would roll onto his side. He would grab the novel and flashlight quickly and turn to face the wall. Surprisingly, he spent some time doing this.

That was, until he thought of reading as a chore and it soon bored him. Tyson then ventured to his old habits of lying on his back, merely thinking instead of attempting to occupy his thoughts with amusements. Unfortunately, that also became a negative aspect of his sleeping woes, his mind seemed to travel over details too quickly and he found himself dwelling on the same facts multiple times.

Tyson had soon grown sick of focusing on every detail that happened, of course sticking to the bad things that occurred that day. So he oddly came up with an idea to cure this problem of his in a midnight brainstorm. And under his slippers the very next day was a text he still had, only now it was buried in his closet, it was his very own diary.

But he had always refused to call it that word, it seemed far too feminine, and he chose to name it his journal. Of course, he too tired of calling it that as well, and later opted to writing 'Dear Jo' at every top right hand corner.

When he had looked back to this book, which he never did complete, and reread each short entry until he was a little older, he soon realized he lacked writing skills. Remembering one particular exert, one that would forever make him laugh, proved his thoughts.

'_Dear Jo,_

_Hilary said all boys are rud, mean and perfect. I wanna cholke her._

_Tyson.'_

His spelling had never been great as a child, and the basis of his writing was never anything more interesting than that. Though as he grew older, the entries expanded in length, and he could remember times staying up late after his bedtime just writing about his rather average life.

And Hilary made multiple appearances within his journal, a lot of their petty fights and what she had said at one point to anger him specifically. But she did have other moments. Times where he mentioned she was feeling better without mentioning prior that she had been sick, or just in general, stating what they had played at recess or if they were going to do something the next day.

His personal writings had been the only phase that he had been forced to stop. It was also the only one he wished he could've continued, yet he didn't. Because it had been the single time he was caught within the act.

Tyson remembered that day, even remembered what he was writing about. It had been back in the time where he used to lock his journal; conveniently, he also tried hiding the key for the first time that night. He had placed it within a piggy bank that sat on his dresser, right outside the small hole in the bottom where you accessed the money.

After signing his name sloppily at the end, Tyson had tiptoed across the room, making sure to go around the spot where the floor creaked. He had picked up the rather heavy bank and searched for the key. At first he was unable to find it and the small change within clanged against the sides. So the boy had creased his eyebrows in concentration, his tongue sticking out at the side of his mouth, searching for the pair of keys.

Fortunately, the keys dropped onto the floor, along with a couple coins, and the search had ended. At that point the boy had been rather happy as he picked up the keys and retreated back to his bed where the journal was placed facedown, but that had not lasted long. He was struggling with locking the journal for some reason; he held the flashlight with his chin, trying to aim the light correctly while his hands fumbled with the cheap keys that corresponded with the lock of his journal. He never did lock the journal that evening; someone had caught him at that very moment.

"T man, what you doing dawg?"

The sudden voice had made him jump as he dropped all the items on the floor, scattering at his feet. He could remember turning to look at his Grandpa, but not his expression; so Tyson was never sure if he was disappointed or angry.

"I… I was…. Well…."

"Get some Z's, it's your bedtime. You can write about your home girl tomorrow."

That had been quite embarrassing for the boy, and thankfully his Grandpa never mentioned the incident to him again. And from that day, or rather night, he never wrote to 'Jo' after hours again.

Yet Tyson still had those sleepless nights, and he could never figure out why. Only now he chose to lay on his back and think, contemplate anything that would pass through his mind even for a mere second. And the light that crossed his ceiling from the door and travelled down the wall still managed to grab his interest. It was no longer because of nonexistent spiders; it was because the light seemed to be brighter these evenings, inviting almost, reaching out towards him with promise. And each night he would dismiss the thought and its constant calling.

But on this particular night he felt more restless than usual, and the lit features of his room tempted him to go outside. He was reluctant as he sat up on his bed carefully, not wanting to be caught again. Though it wasn't as if he was not old enough to make his own decisions, it was more that he didn't want to disturb anyone for his own gain.

So Tyson, just like in his youth, tiptoed across the room, carefully going around the creaky spot on the floor, to reach the door. Slowly and quietly, he slid the door ajar, the light enveloping more than just the roof and wall, greeting him in peaceful solitude.

Stepping outside to the exterior porch like halls of the dojo, he admired the view that had been calling him for the last few years. Yet his reluctance remained within as he approached the edge of the veranda; unsure if he should go back, or stay because something was beckoning him on. His decision was made when his bare feet met the grass with one movement.

Still he strode forward, almost in a trance, his gaze cast upwards to a cobalt blue decorated with crystalline specks. The moon was nothing compared to the combination, the scene purely worthy of silence because to Tyson it was indeed that perfect to describe.

He stood there for a moment, looking upwards as the wind softly ruffled his hair, pressing it against his forehead, and not bothering to fix it in any way. The stars twinkling, continuing whatever promise they were withholding from him, embedded within the blanket that was the sky.

"Tyson, what are you doing?"

The hush sound had not made him jump in embarrassment, though he was surprised when he turned to see Hilary. She gave him a curious, yet tired, look from the porch of the dojo, her hand stifling a yawn.

"I… I…. You know… stuff."

"Right…," she said unimpressed, "Shouldn't you be asleep, isn't it passed your bedtime?"

Tyson merely shrugged, "Maybe. What about you? I mean, I know you came early, but the sun hasn't even risen yet."

"We were working pretty late on you beyblade, remember? So Kenny and I are spending the night," Hilary said, "Then I heard something…."

"Me?" he guessed with a frown, "Nobody else is up though, right?"

"I… don't think so," Hilary shrugged, attempting to give him a curious look as she erupted into another yawn.

"You should go back to bed," Tyson told her, "I'll try to be quieter; I didn't mean to wake you…."

"Oh, that's alright Tyson," Hilary stated, "How about you, are you going back to bed?"

"Probably not," he answered, "Might as well do something productive… star gazing looks like it will be good tonight."

"Then I'll stay with you," Hilary decided.

"You don't have to…."

"I want to," she interrupted his protest.

Tyson smiled as he retreated back to the veranda, sitting on the edge. Hilary remained standing, leaning against a wooden pillar not far from the boy, her arms crossed. He regarded her in silence, her eyes cast to the sky.

Hilary also seemed to be entranced by the unbeatable combination. Her tired gaze contained a trace of admiration, or at least curiosity. It was possible that she may have sensed their secrets as well, the promise calling to her, reaching out like it had for him.

Then she yawned again, causing the boy to frown, unknown to the brunette who rubbed her eyes. "You should really go to bed," Tyson repeated, concern wafted in his voice.

"No… I'll stay up and talk to you," she shook her head, holding herself tighter with her crossed arms. She gave him an odd look as he continued to just stare at her, Tyson sighed.

"You're cold."

"Really? And here I thought I just shivered for fun," she smirked, looking back to the sky, her expression softened.

Tyson glanced upwards as well, briefly taking in the scenery before his attention again rested on the brunette. Smiling, he stated, "I'll be back in a second."

He watched her give him an inquisitive look as he walked towards the dojo. He crept back into his room, illuminated by the moonlight, making everything slightly easier to see. Approaching his bedside, he grabbed the blanket and quietly removed it from how it covered the mattress. Not bothering to fold it, he carried it under his arm when he brought it outside.

By this time, the girl had already retreated back to gazing silently. And when Tyson draped the blanket over her shoulders it nearly caused her to jump, but she held it closer, thankful for the warmth.

"Beautiful view," Tyson stated, nodding upwards with a smile, "It's kind of like they're calling to me… but that probably sounds strange."

"I don't know Tyson, I kind of understand what you mean," Hilary disagreed, deciding to sit on the floor of the veranda, "But I didn't really think of you as a star person."

The capped boy snorted as he leaned against the same wooden pillar Hilary was using as a backrest. "I'm not," he told her, "All I do is look at them… I don't know anything about them."

Hilary shrugged, tilting her head to peer towards Tyson with a smile. "Whatever you say," she sighed, watching him momentarily, "But… with a quick glance I was able to see that you're cold too."

"I'm fine," he dismissed the fact.

"I don't want you catching a cold," she scolded, making room within the blanket for him, "Now sit down, there's no reason for you to freeze."

Rolling his eyes, Tyson sat down beside the brunette with the blanket hugging his shoulders, huddling together to make sure each had an equal share. "Happy now?" he sighed.

She laughed softly, "Thrilled."

Then silence fitted between the pair, their shoulders grazing one another because of their closeness, their attention elsewhere. The secret holders sparkled above them, catching their eyes and winking playfully – keeping a secret between them.

"I used to have a telescope," Tyson said abruptly, feeling inclined to say something, "Well… it was Hiro's technically; he won it in a draw."

He could feel her gaze upon him for a moment, questioning where this was going. "Oh, really?" she implored, rather sleepily to Tyson's ears.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I was excited to see the stars up close… and… uh… the possibility of aliens was kind of cool too…." A trace of giggling reaches his ears causing a smile to come to his face. "It wasn't anything authentic," he continued, "Just some cheap plastic replica, but I was pretty young at the time so I thought it was great, always making my brother set it up."

For a moment he pauses, giving himself time to recall the memory. And it appears that the brunette respects this wish because she is silent, and they are again left with stillness.

"He eventually taught me how to do it myself, and it feels like I borrowed it almost every night in an attempt to see something I can't from down here," Tyson told her, "When the thing broke suddenly I was pretty sure that I was never going to be given that chance again…."

Sighing, he let his head fall against the wooden pillar as he peered towards the ceiling. Again there was no response from the female he had never been closer to, and he found himself wishing that she was speaking.

"But… I guess I was wrong," he admitted, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he admired the cobalt and crystalline combination yet again, softness curved within his voice, "You can see some pretty amazing things from down here…."

With that final thought, weight was felt upon his shoulder. Immediately he looked to see Hilary asleep, her head residing on him as her own personal pillow.

"So you weren't even listening," Tyson whispered dryly, amused by the truth, "If I fell asleep on you like that I would never hear the end of it…."

He watched her absently, a peaceful expression etched across her face, warming him more so than what the blanket was.

Sometimes Tyson couldn't sleep, but he was beginning to understand why. They twinkled, shone and reached out towards him in promise many times before, and now that he answered they remained much the same. Those stars winked at him with secrets, their plan unknown, but the presence was undeniable. And as he rested his head against Hilary's he decided that he would listen more often.


End file.
